


Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

by basaltgrrl



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things Gene Doesn't Do.  Ever.  But Sam has a way of pushing him.  Sam has changed his world and turned it upside down, and Gene is struggling.  Gay sex warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bewitched, bothered and bewildered

Gene never touches Sam's hair. It's ridiculously short, for one thing, and the bloke doesn't seem to realize that it would be acceptible to let it grow a bit, fit in more with the lads in the office as well as giving Gene something to grab onto, pull Sam's head back and watch the fire light in his eyes... But no, Gene doesn't touch Sam's hair. Too much like being with a bird, that. Stroking, softness, caressing, there's none of that with Sam Tyler because they're both men, and they're not supposed to be touching each other in any case, let alone in the heart-achingly tender way you do with a woman. Sam's hair is like a cap on his head, bristled, curling just a little at his nape, and Gene does not touch it, not ever.

Gene doesn't touch Sam's arse, except to move him. Odd, how he can be giving it to Sam up the back passage and still barely touch him there, since Sam does the prep work in silence, mouth dropping open in pleasure or pain, eyes locked on Gene's face as he watches. Oh, he wants to touch Sam's round, pale buttocks, but he doesn't because that would mean something. He wants to mark that smooth surface, to own it, but just knowing that about himself makes him turn the Cortina away from Sam's flat, one night out of three. He's a man and a copper and Sam's corrupted him good and for sure, so he doesn't touch that arse because once he starts he's sure he won't stop. He'll wrap his fingers around Sam's hips and shift him closer, rest his cock in the cleft of Sam's achingly perfect bottom and wait until Sam reaches back and spreads himself, but that's as much as Gene allows himself; the rest is just fucking.

Gene tries not to touch Sam's face. Kissing; he tries to avoid it. It happens, of course, when they're both pissed, when Gene's clumsy, let's Sam past his guard. Then there's hot breath against his neck, his ear. Sam always gets his tongue in. Hot kisses, maddening, hotter than anything he ever had from his wife, and Gene gives back what he gets because he's had to much Whisky, can't stop himself. He loses himself in the slide of Sam's tongue, devouring his mouth, getting hard. He wakes the next morning with a hammer pounding behind his eyes and the undeniable memory burned into his nerve endings of kisses, pressing Sam into the door of his flat and rutting against him until Sam gasps, "Not here," opens the door and pulls Gene through it by his tie.

So Gene tries not to think about all of Sam's bits, tries not to think about touching him anywhere, but can't stop himself from staring all the day, at the Railway Arms and in CID. He finds new words to insult Sam with in the hope that it'll turn off this bloody thing between them, at least for a while, long enough to do his bloody job. Only thing is, Sam stares right back, licks his lips, turns away and presents his arse. Damn him.

Gene doesn't grab Sam's lapels anymore, because then his knuckles graze Sam's chest and all he can think about is the bare skin so close, the way Sam's neck flushes when he gets fucked, the way Sam's eyes close and his nostrils flare. Instead he shoulders him aside, uses his bulk to push Sam around. It doesn't bleeding help.

Gene touches Sam's shoulder one night. "Come with me, Marjorie."

They drive in silence to Gene's house, all unspoken words and yearning glances--at least that's what Gene knows he's feeling. Sam's inscrutable. Shit, who ever seduces their Guv with hot words and a hotter tongue and blow jobs in Lost and Found? Who bleeding does that? He doesn't understand where it all came from or where it could possibly go, only that he has to own this man, has to take him until something is finally satisfied inside of him. He's afraid there's no end to it.

They close the front door and Sam's all over him, kissing, biting his neck, pushing his camelhair coat off his shoulders. "Guv, we can't, I don't, I'm not sure how to--" it all comes pouring out of him, incoherent. Gene had intended to have a talk, to try to draw a line. But Sam's desperation is a fire in him, and instead of slowing it down Gene cradles Sam's head in both his hands, stares fiercely into his eyes for a bare moment and dives into his mouth. They kiss like there's no tomorrow. It's a mutual invasion, tongues clashing, heads twisting. Gene wraps a hand around the back of Sam's neck and uses the other to fumble with Sam's belt buckle. Sam helps him, and a moment later his pants are pushed down enough that Gene has his hand on Sam's cock--a new thing, a thing he had tried not to do for so long--and it's so bloody good that he groans out loud.

"Oh my god," Sam breathes, hips hitching in time with Gene's hand. Gene works his other hand down into Sam's trousers to grab his arse, to get a good handful of it and squeeze while he works Sam's cock, and then they're kissing again, some more, his eyes open just enough to watch beads of sweat form on Sam's forehead, Sam's hip is pressing against Gene's own erection, rubbing as Sam thrusts. "Oh," Sam says, his eyes roll back, and then his cock seems to swell.

Gene pulls him closer by his arse, one finger sliding into Sam's crack, and bleeding Nora that's good, that's--Sam makes an incoherent noise and buries his face in the crook of Gene's neck, wetness running down Gene's hand, and Gene's orgasm hits in a rush as he rocks into Sam's hip.

They're still leaning against the front door, still heaving for air. Gene lets go of Sam's cock, wipes his hand ineffectually on his own thigh. Sam's vibrating against him.

"I was going to end it," Gene says at last. He doesn't remove his hand from Sam's arse.

"I thought so."

"I've changed my mind."

Sam laughs, high pitched. "But... we have to find a way--I mean, we can't..."

"Yeah. But. It might get easier."

"Yeah."

They breathe more slowly. Sam's hand slides up Gene's chest to wind around his neck. "Maybe if we do everything we want to outside of work we won't think about it so much, y'know..."

"You think about it a lot?" Gene looks down at the side of Sam's face, surprised.

"Too much." Sam smiles.

"I never wanted this."

"Sorry."

"No. I... I'm trying to say," he puts a hand to Sam's chin, makes him look up. "I can't pretend anymore, Sammy-boy." It's everything he has to say, and as Sam rests his head back on Gene's shoulder and his back begins to complain, and he wipes his sticky hand once more on his leg, he realizes how true that is, and how frightening, but how reassuring and necessary Sam's weight against him is in this fraught moment. "You're staying at mine tonight."  



End file.
